My Tae Kwon Do instructor stood in front of me, the board held tightly in his hands.

“Just tell me when you’re ready,” he said.

I had to break it. That thought was ringing around inside my head, inside my stomach. Break it. BREAK IT! You have to break it.

I stepped back for a practice kick. I got in a good stance, clenched my fists, and then I spun around backwards, doing a complete turn, and brought my heel up lightly on the edge of the board. Just to make sure that I was lined up, I practiced again.

The old, thin brown carpet was rough on my bare feet as I pivoted. The fluorescent lights in the ceiling filled the room with light. Everything was silent, waiting for me. My martial arts classmates sat Indian-style in a row on the floor to my left. In the back of the room, my mom and dad sat in chairs. I could feel everyone’s gaze boring through me like so many tiny lasers. I had never broken a board before, although I had tried several times. Even a boy in my Tae Kwon Do class who was two years younger than me (and a lower rank) had broken one, and he always made sure that I knew it.

My loose white uniform made snapping sounds as I lined myself up once more, but the baggy pants and jacket didn’t keep me from sweating. I felt as hot as if I were wearing sweatpants and a turtleneck. I paused to pull the knot in my deep-blue belt tight.

“Through the board, through the board,” I chanted to myself

“OK,” I whispered, and with one last deep breath, I swirled around, the room blurring before my eyes. Then I kicked my heel against the hard wood. I stepped back. The board was still in one piece.

“You stopped,” my instructor said, smiling. “You have to go through the board. Try it again.”

I was getting sick of people telling me to “go through the board.” As if I wasn’t trying!

“Through the board, through the board,” I chanted to myself. I took another practice try and then flew around again, my long, blond braid swishing around behind me. But again, I couldn’t break the board. I hadn’t even cracked it! I felt tears of frustration welling up in my eyes and tipped my head back to get rid of them. I wouldn’t disappoint everyone by being a quitter. I wouldn’t disappoint myself.

“Almost,” my instructor told me. “You still stopped. Try it just one more time.”

One more chance. That was all I got. Suddenly, I remembered my instructor sticking his tongue out once and waving his hands by his ears.

“That’s what the board’s doing,” he had said to me.

I closed my eyes and pictured myself cracking the board in half.

“I’ll show you, Mr. Board. I’ll do it,” I whispered, and the words “I’ll do it” echoed inside me. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”

“OK,” I said quietly. I spun around. My foot snapped out and collided with the board in just the right spot. I heard a distant CRACK! and then my foot fell through the board and my instructor was holding up the two jagged pieces and grinning.